


Don't Cry

by loserchic



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Omega Stiles Stilinski, musical AU, singing au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 04:33:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3596511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loserchic/pseuds/loserchic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Stiles is a tenor omega with a secret, Derek is a bass alpha with a serious boyfriend, and they star in a professional stage production together. Derek falls for Stiles' voice and talent. Derek's omega boyfriend watches his relationship destruct before his eyes. Stiles just falls and destructs.  </p><p>Inspired by A Better Man by Jezziejay</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stiles: Clarity, Peace, Serenity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jezziejay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jezziejay/gifts).



> Another free write exercise. (NO BETA, NO REREADS, NO PLOTTING OR PLANNING- JUST SIT AND GO) Another angsty performance AU. (Once again- childhood scarred me for life) Another remix of another author's plot. Again- playing fast and loose with the facts of how an actual production is put on, but inspired by real life.

Stiles has never considered himself particularly opaque. He doesn’t just wear his heart on his sleeve, but all over his face, in his big eyes and out of his bigger mouth, the blood and mess be damned. It doesn’t take a psychic or even a psychologist to read Stiles. Stiles is all enthusiasm, all emotion, all in. Stiles hardly does this living thing half-assed. And Stiles likes being like this. Stiles has never had anything to hide. The worst crime in the world to Stiles is anything less than honesty, anything other than authenticity. Stiles can’t remember a time where he was afraid to laugh. Or afraid to cry, if he really felt like it. Stiles loves to sing. Stiles loves to express himself, in big smiles, big jokes, big hugs, but Stiles favorite way to communicate with the world has always been to sing.

Stiles’ dad says that Stiles started to sing before he started to talk. Beautiful, cutting omega notes. Harmonies and melodies that flow easily from his tongue, trills and chirps in perfect and pure pitch. Stiles was a recognized alto as a child, and then when puberty hit he transformed into a winning tenor. Stiles embraced his voice the way he embraced the rest of himself. Without fear of what would come from it. His voice became Stiles’ guiding compass in a world of change. Nothing was more soothing to him than to breathe, feel himself fill with nourishing air, and hit the notes hard and sweet and perfect. 

“Music is life-giving.” Stiles’ coach, the renowned vocal teacher, Christophe, had always told him. “To you, to the listener. When you open your mouth you take them in your hands, if only for a few minutes. They trust you to transform them. Let your audience know they can trust you.” 

Beacon Hills has more theaters per capita than any other part of the country, save New York City. It’s known to much of the outside theater community as ‘The Little Apple.’ Stiles grows up behind the scenes of the professional theaters there, raised among professional artists, singing for their rent money every month. By the time Stiles is seventeen, he’s appeared in over 30 professional productions, in various roles and capacities. Stiles is one of the few lucky young artists Christophe took under his wing and taught for years, molding Stiles into a consummate performer and a stunningly controlled singer. Stiles spent his youth in a long dream of cattle call auditions, yearly headshots, summer tours over seas, and workshops year round. By the time Stiles graduates from high school he is exhausted. He turns eighteen and retires. Stiles no longer sits in theaters and picks apart performances. His agent stops calling. For the first time in his life, Stiles can cut his hair without asking some director for permission. After a while he no longer even sings in the shower. Stiles has grown up. He’s not going to sing for his rent. He’s going to find an alpha, have some cubs, settle down. He’s going to be known as the accountant formerly known as the artist formerly known as starving. Or something. Stiles goes away to college and moves out of state. Freshmen year goes by. Then the fall of sophomore year. Stiles sees auditions for the university musicals and isn’t even tempted to throw his hat in that sad, little political ring. During the spring of Stiles sophomore year he comes back to Beacon Hills, back to his home network of theaters. Back to his mentor, Christophe. Everything is the same. But it also isn’t.

Christophe hounded and lectured and reiterated until fearless performing was so ingrained in Stiles’ whole being that he thinks he may actually be immune to embarrassment. Stiles took chances when he performed. Stiles gave his audience his heart, blood and mess be damned, in exchange for their trust. Stiles was fearless.

Stiles is back with his home audience. And now Stiles doesn’t sing for them. But now Stiles is afraid. And for the first time, Stiles is hiding something from everyone. Keeping the mess on the inside, where it can only bleed him. Stiles has a secret and he doesn’t know how to approach this scene. He doesn’t have the lyrics to this one, nobody is there to give him the words. And Stiles is afraid to open his mouth, afraid he’ll fall flat. 

Christophe is having none of this. “I have a part for you, Stiles.” He says over lunch. “I know you’re on a break from school.” 

“Indefinitely.” Stiles answers, staring into his Cobb salad with distaste. “If you can call that a break.” 

“Come back to the stage, Stiles.” Christophe says, taking none of this melancholy. “It will do this old man good to have you back in one of his productions. I’m directing a new musical- a test run before it goes to New York. I have a part that was made for you. It will be good for you to be back on stage. I know you miss it.” 

And Stiles agrees, knowing full well he’s a fraud. It’ll be his last chance to be with an audience in this way, to be with a cast this way, and nobody can know the truth. Stiles is afraid because there is no script to his life so he doesn’t know how to say goodbye. Performing is what Stiles knows, so he figures this is as good a way as any.


	2. Keith: The Dark Ahead

On the outside, Derek is something of a walking cliche. Tall, dark, and about as easy to read as Sanscrit. It had taken Keith a month before Derek had cracked and shown him even a glimmer of the sensitive heart inside this Adonis statue of an alpha. The actor wasn’t exactly one to wear his heart on his sleeve where just anybody could prod or judge. Derek wasn’t even fond of shirts in general. Derek was forever pacing around their shared apartment shirtless, checking his breathing in the mirror or any other reflective surface, really. Taking in great gusts of air to hit his low, velvety perfect notes. Derek’s powerful alpha voice reverberates as he warms up in the showers every morning, waking Keith with rich scales and simple, yet decadent streams of notes. Derek has the voice of a melodic king. Any omega could feel the power radiating from such succulent vocal chords.

Before Stiles, Keith would have sooner predicted World War Three than Derek bursting in one evening with a Christophe Waltzer score in his hand, and a grin the size and brightness of a New York City skyline on his face. They had been together three years and Keith had never seen Derek so excited. He should have known then. There should have been trumpets or sirens or something heralding the end was nigh. Derek was smiling like he had been drugged in the car on the way home with some illegal upper, and the name on his lips, with nearly orgasmic ecstasy was, Stiles Stilinski. Some omega child stage star that was popular around here- back from college in another state apparently. One of Christophe’s hallowed, golden protegees. Derek talks about the stage actors Christophe raised up and trained like they are all the Lassies combined. Derek talks about Christophe like he’s the love child of Quintin Tarantino and Jesus. Keith likes theater- he does. But he doesn’t understand why this Stiles Stilinski is apparently worthy of one hour of Derek’s nonstop praise. Derek hasn’t even met this kid yet. Stilinski hadn’t been at the casting call. Stiles had been cast behind the scenes and over the rest of the actors’ heads. It had nearly consumed Derek for a week and a half of call backs and unending practice and vocal warm ups around the apartment, but Derek’s smile seems to say it was all worth it because he’s now cast opposite to this omega tenor in Waltzer’s new musical. Keith is happy for him. Really, thrilled. It’s great that Derek’s getting serious work like this. 

Derek was a late bloomer in his field, according to the alpha, himself. Keith wouldn’t know. Keith is a financial planner who attended business school and had only ever seen live theater on grade school field trips. Derek had been a varsity jock in high school who had suffered a tendon injury his freshmen year in college and discovered he liked to sing. After three years of grueling work and university productions, Derek had graduated with a BA in Theater Arts and moved back to Beacon Hills to work full time on stage. Thanks to his near flawless natural baritone, Derek had done well for himself in the professional stages. He’d even won the favor of legendary director, Christophe Waltzer, and soon became a go-to favorite of the director’s for leading men. Derek had a fire in him for his profession, and he had been so ecstatic to be accepted by Waltzer, despite not coming up in the business as a child, as so many of Walter’s favorites had. But what Derek lacked in pedigree, the alpha made up in raw talent and sheer determination. Derek performed like he had something to prove. Now, seeing Derek lovingly touch the paper of his new script, and tracing Stiles Stilinski’s name on the cast list on the cover, Keith wonders if he’s finally proven it. 

Later, when Derek is reading and playing melody lines at the old standup piano in the living room, Keith youtubes Stiles Stilinski. The only videos that come up are shaky cell phone recordings dated a few years ago. Even with the terrible quality Keith can hear Stiles’ voice, clear and passionate and somehow dripping with tangible feeling. While Keith can’t make out the slim omega’s face, the flawless, aching tones of the omega’s song ignites something cold and unsettling deep in Keith’s gut. Stiles voice floats out through the speakers of Keith’s headphones like something exquisite and deadly invading his ears. And Keith doesn’t have to be a theater expert to know this omega is good- hauntingly, dangerously good. The siren song stays in his head, even as he sucks Derek off later, tasting and teasing twice as long as normal- like Keith has something to prove.


	3. Stiles: Baby Steps

“How could you possibly love me?” Stiles asks, his eyes large and vulnerable. “You don’t understand...” His voice shakes and he bites his lip. He leans back, scared, making himself small in his own body. Classically omega, but also open, his face and form a mess of conflicted emotions. Bare in way that makes you feel embarrassed to even look. 

Derek closes in, tight and breathing heavy, his eyes anguished. “What I wouldn’t give for you... what I haven’t done for you...” His breath hovers close to Stiles’ neck, and then his eyes grow dim for a moment and he’s out. “Shit!” Derek swears, looking down and then back up again and over to Christophe quickly. “I lost it!” He shakes his head, a self-deprecating smile on his face, flushing. “I’m really sorry.” He tells Stiles. “It’s just- goddamn you’re so good. I lost myself for a moment there.” 

“Fucking lazy.” Stiles laughs, out of character now too. “You need Isaac to put up a Teleprompter for the run of the show, Der?” He smirks and swats at Derek playfully. 

“I got it, I promise.” Derek says, grinning at Isaac, the head stage manager. “Anyways I’m not the one sharping the E in the second song.” 

“You couldn’t sing the E in the second song if someone castrated you,” Stiles laughs, rolling his eyes. 

“The line is, ‘I think you’re beautiful,’” Christophe prompts, trying and failing to look stern. It’s unlike the director to be so playful on set, but something about having Stiles back in the studio laughing and joking with the cast has seem to have left the old veteran feeling puckish. 

“Oh that’s why I couldn’t remember it,” Derek says, swatting Stiles’ back. “I can’t think of ‘beautiful’ staring at your ugly face.” 

“You’re the one who has butt-breath, Mr. Alpha Beard.” Stiles snaps back. It’s also unlike Stiles to be so unfocused on set. He usually is serious, quiet, and studious. While Stiles still has his trademark red pen in his hand and has been taking notes, he’s more relaxed. Derek is unlike any alpha he’s ever worked with, strong and competent, and so... inspiring. Stiles felt safe with him on set from day one in way he usually doesn’t with his costars. It hadn’t taken them even an hour to warm up to each other, to start joking and play tumbling like old friends. Touching Derek hadn’t been awkward, and for all his joking, Derek smells better than good... Derek smells like stage light and grease paint and a full house on opening night. Derek smells like Stiles’ best, happiest memories. In a fit of unheard of spontaneity, Stiles jumps on Derek’s back during the next break, wrestling the larger alpha to the ground like a puppy. And Derek lets him, all gentle tugging and free laughter. Derek smells like the best parts of Stiles life up until now, all wrapped up in one handsome, talented alpha, and Stiles is grateful. If this is his last costar, Stiles will always be thankful it was Derek. Derek is the living embodiment of why Stiles chose this life as a small child. And Derek will carry on in this beautiful way of living, this perfect art, even when Stiles can’t. Stiles is grateful- should be grateful. And he is. But only when he forces himself not to think about what could have been, what he and Derek could have accomplished together if there was more time for more roles and more shows. What he and Derek could have been to each other, to the audiences, if Stiles didn’t have his secret. Stiles has this now. And it’s so good. Stiles would be an idiot if he spoiled it with wishes and fantasies that have no place in reality and no chance of ever being.


	4. Keith: The Path I'm Walking

“Fourth!” Chistophe Waltzer’s voice is light but surprisingly sharp and commanding for an omega. “Stop it with the vibrato on measure eighty-four.”

Keith is generally discouraged, as all outside laymen are, from attending rehearsals, but Derek has been absent so much lately, he can’t help himself from sort of guilt-tripping the alpha into letting him sit in on one two weeks into rehearsal. Keith has met Waltzer several times previously at a few cast parties and a fund-raiser, and the famed director had always been cordial enough, if not a bit tense. He had greeted Keith in a way that had made it clear that Waltzer had immediately forgotten who he was the moment the greeting had been out of his lips. Keith has never seen the director in his element before- all pacing energy and staccato hand gestures. He completely captures the attention of the cast and crew- all of them following the old omega’s motions like a pack of dogs following handful of treats. The whole company seems slightly on edge, not frightened, but enthusiastically eager to please their director. The only figure among them that seems at ease is... the illustrious Stiles Stilinski. This is the first time Keith has set eyes on the tenor in the flesh and the years old videos are nothing in comparison to the actual omega. Derek has talked up Stiles over hasty dinners and breakfasts until Keith half expects some mature, larger than life veteran diva, all flare and raucous laughter. What he finds when he arrives at the studio, his folding chair carefully hidden behind the managers’ table is a small, impossibly young-looking omega, lithe and slight, his movements deliberate, graceful and calculated. Stiles is slender with a ready smile and a short bark of a laugh which is completely at odds with the poignancy of his silken voice. Stiles begins to sing some solo, next to the piano, red pen in his compact hand, almost immediately after warm ups. Keith tries not to notice the way Derek stands a few feet to Stiles’ left, following along diligently with some battered sheet music.

“ _Nothing’s gone, but nothing’s lasting,_ ” Stiles sings, his large, romantic eyes unfocused and fixed unseeing on the wall. He’s not mic-ed, but the omega’s voice flows readily around the piano, practiced and bold in ways Keith can’t imagine.

The two actors continue on for the remainder of the rehearsal, laughing and joking more than Keith thinks is probably economical, and Keith thinks it’s all a bit much. After rehearsal he walks up to Derek and gives him an enormous hug despite the alpha’s sweat-soaked body.

“Hey babe!” Derek says, happily, grinning.

“That was amazing!” Keith says, carefully enthusiastic, laying a pointed kiss on his boyfriend’s cheek.

“You must be the guy Derek’s fucking.” A dry, laughing voice says behind them. “That was fucking terrible.”

Keith turns and sees Stiles grinning up at Derek and he doesn’t know what the hell he’s so happy about. He looks up and sees Derek smiling down at the rude omega.

“Oh! Fourth- this is my boyfriend, Keith.” Derek says, motioning exuberantly. “Keith, this is the world’s most amazing tenor, Stiles Stilinski.”

“Yeah- hit your mark in scene three and you can drop the flattery, Der.” Stiles swats Derek easily. “It’s cool to meet you.” Stiles says and Keith is vaguely reminded of Christophe at the cast party. “Goddamn it, Der- where did you put my water bottle?” The omega is staring back at _Der_ again.

“Oh- it’s in the green room!” Derek says, detaching his sweaty body from Keith’s side. “I’ll go with you to grab it, Fourth.”

Derek takes off, following the omega actor’s bouncy, graceful jog, swatting at his costar as they go. Keith watches them, feeling distinctly like he’s missing something, or perhaps just paranoid.

He turns to Isaac, the stage manager. “Are they calling Stiles, Fourth?” He asks, confused.

“Yeah,” Isaac says, laughing. “Stiles has been around for a long time. It’s been his nickname since he was like, fourteen or something.”

“Why?” Keith raises an eyebrow. What a dumb nickname.

“Have you ever heard of a Triple Threat?” Isaac asks, stacking his notes neatly. “It’s this thing in theater. It’s a performer who is really good at dancing, singing, and acting- a Triple Threat. Well, Stiles was so good so young, Christophe started saying he had something extra- a fourth threat. Stiles is the fourth threat. It kinda stuck.” He smiles, nostalgic. “I tell you, that kid is lethal in auditions. Christophe almost trained that one too good, you know? He used to decimate the competition.”

Keith smiles and politely excuses himself when Derek comes back in, still laughing like a teenager. They go home in their shared car and Keith showers with Derek that night, even though the alpha is exhausted and insists on them being quick. He lies next to his sleeping boyfriend, awake for a long time after that. He tries not to think about the small, quick, crude omega who turns Derek from a man of stone into a giddy delinquent.


End file.
